To Hatred Turned by Ken Englade Read Free Book Online Page A

the L, protruding outward toward the street. The living area, which made up the longer side, was set farther back, well away from the curb. A pair of mimosa trees, which at that time of the year still had all their leaves, shaded the neatly clipped front lawn and the well-tended flower beds under the windows of what had to be the living room. If either Duggan or Moore had thought to classify it, they would have called it a typical Dallas-style suburban house.
    As he always did when he arrived at a scene, Duggan checked his watch. Squinting in the fading light, he noted the time. Then, lifting the clipboard that held the paperwork paramedics were required to keep, Duggan scratched on the pad: “Arrival 6:36 P . M .”
    “Well,” he said to his partner, opening his door and stepping into the furnace, “let’s go see what the trouble is.”
    Striding briskly up the front walk, Duggan saw nothing unusual; the scene appeared placid enough. And why shouldn’t it? Richardson was normally sedate despite its close proximity to Dallas, the bustling megalopolis that sprawled to the south and west, threatening to swallow anything within half a hundred miles. Even though the cities were neighbors, the contrast between them was remarkable, particularly as far as statistics on violent crime were concerned. While there might be five hundred murders a year in Dallas, it was unusual to have more than four a year in Richardson. So far, in fact, although 1983 was more than three-fourths done, there had not been a single killing in the smaller city.
    As Duggan and Moore reached the front door, they found it slightly ajar. Cautiously nudging it open with his fingertips, Duggan peered inside and blinked in mild surprise. Immediately in his line of sight was a dark-haired boy who seemed to be about four who was sitting on a couch, eating a bowl of cereal and watching television.
    Duggan and Moore’s arrival startled the child, who swiveled in their direction when Duggan opened the door. Outrage sprang into his eyes.
    “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Get out!” he yelled angrily. “My daddy doesn’t want you here. If he finds you here, he’ll beat you up. He’ll tear your heads off.”
    The paramedics paused, momentarily shocked by the unexpected vehemence. Duggan glanced around the room. Everything appeared normal. There was no evident disarray, no overturned furniture, or any other indication that something might be amiss, except for one thing: the absence of an adult. Duggan looked appraisingly at the boy.
    “Is there anyone else here?” he asked softly. “Where’s your mommy and daddy?”
    The boy did not answer, but his eyes swung involuntarily to the right, to a hallway that Duggan assumed led to the bedroom area.
    “You have to leave,” the boy repeated antagonistically. “I want you out of here.”
    Duggan and Moore exchanged glances. Ignoring the boy, they moved toward the hallway. They had not taken more than four steps when they heard a noise that stopped them in their tracks. At that point, all thought of the day’s heat was erased from Duggan’s mind. Instead, he felt as if someone had injected ice water into his veins. In an instant, he went as cold as if he had suddenly been thrust into a freezer. What he had heard was a muffled moan, a mixture between a sob and a supplication that sounded like a wet, deep whimper. It was totally unlike anything Duggan had ever heard before and it frightened him to the core. Swallowing the fear that climbed to his throat, Duggan sprinted down the hallway, followed by Moore.
    At the door to the master bedroom they reacted in horror to the scene inside. It was one neither would ever forget. A nude young female with long dark hair and an hourglass figure was sprawled on her stomach across a four-poster bed that dominated the room. Her legs and her right arm were tied to three of the bedposts, locking her into a spread-eagled position. A stocking and a piece of cloth were